


The Girl Who Arrived to 221B Baker Street.

by DeyaRedfield



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, BBC series - Freeform, Book References, Canon Divergence - S04, Creepy Situations, Detectives, Drama, Family Drama, Family Loss, Family Secrets, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Kids could be in danger, Learning Parenthood, Mistery, Parenthood, Paternity, Suspense, The Science of Deduction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28604526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeyaRedfield/pseuds/DeyaRedfield
Summary: Isabelle is a little girl who had the misfortune to witness her mother's murder; during that event, she hears the name Sherlock Holmes being mentioned by the killer and she decides to go on the hunt for the famous Detective Consultant to solve her mother's murder. Meeting Sherlock, he discovers that Isabelle is a special child. So special to light a darkness that began to reign at 221B Baker Street.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	1. The girl who came from Northampton

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: *The characters and the original plot belong to the work of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" and adapted into a television series by Steven Moffat & Mark Gatiss, "Sherlock" (2010-2017), broadcast on BBC television. Except for the OC (Original Characters) all those come from my imagination.*
> 
> Notes + Clarification:
> 
> * Hello! Welcome to my fanfic about our beloved consulting detective. This idea came up and was written around 2016; so, about this time, S04 was coming and I decided to made this fanfiction.  
> * Forgive me my awkard english, no my birth lenguage. I really want to share my fanfics with people who speak english, so I doing my best in grammar and all. Always trying my best. Feel free and polite to correct me if something is terrible written. Also I'm going to respect the British language as much as I can. I'm not very attached to it (because I am more acquainted to the American English) but I want to respect it.  
> * This fic is totally centered on BBC Sherlock, especially S3 and S4. It could have reference about the books series and/or other Sherlock Holmes media series.  
> * There are OC (Characters that are of my invention) if they are not to your liking, no problem if you do not want to read.  
> * My fic is also available on Wattpad (Spanish & English) and Booknet (Spanish).  
> * This fic is already complete. Updates could be every seven or fifteen days.  
> * Thank you very much for giving my fanfic an opportunity, I hope you enjoy it just as I do in writing it.

**_In your mind's eye, lives a memory hard to find blinded by sorrow._ **  
**_And her cold voice sings a melody, hear her sing._ **

_Akira Yamaoka — Hell Frozen Rain._

* * *

The streets in London were colder than usual. Not one living soul remains in them, only silence was who walked through them. Baker Street is, after a long time, the quietest street of the night. For some it was curious not to hear the sudden shots in the 221B or how the famous detective consultant was screaming for joy or courage. The locals never knew exactly what the shouting was about, however, they are still curious on this cold night.

_Two in the morning._

While everyone lay asleep, very sure of dreaming about that doubt, in that apartment the lights were on. The famed detective lay on his couch, with his hands under his chin and was breathing hard. Suddenly he opened his greyish green eyes and unable to control the adrenaline that was beginning to flow through his body, the detective jumped off the couch and walked fast, covering his mouth to drown out a desperate scream. 

He did not want to upset Mrs. Hudson at this time of night. When did he worry about disturbing her sleep? Unable to control himself, he approached the table and took all the things in it to throw them into the wall with all the strength he had accumulated. Without more enduring, he threw that bloody cry of despair and achieved what, for a few moments, he had wanted to avoid. The light on the stairs came on and Mrs. Hudson's shuddered voice was heard.

"Sherlock?!" There was no answer. He placed his hands on his dark and wavy hair and squeezed it with all his strength, about to want to rip them out. He knelt on the ground and his eyes had crystallized, his cheeks had become reddish and the veins of his hands were protruding, leaving his palpitations be felt.

"Sherlock?!" Mrs. Hudson asked again as she opened the door. "My God! Are you okay?!"

"Get out, Mrs. Hudson!!" without looking at her, he screamed.

"But...?"

"Now!!" he exclaimed furiously and with his hands hit the ground. Frightened Mrs. Hudson obeyed, closed the door, and went down the stairs without looking back.

Sherlock Holmes stayed in that position without stopping to hit the ground, and he was grateful that it was holding him in those moments. He could feel the objects around him starting to get lost between spiral shapes and asterisks, too, in how that ground moved as if it were a tide. Everything had become both psychedelic and painful.

With his crystallized eyes, and turning into a soft reddish, he agreed to get carried away with what was happening. Everything was unreal; with drugs, that unreality was credible. Looking at how his small living room was lost in a hole, he noticed, in front of him, a strange silhouette. Curious he rose with difficulty from the ground and, as his body allowed him, began to approach it.

"Mrs.... Hudson. I told you... to leave..." he babbled.

Every time he felt close to that silhouette, his feet played very badly and made him stagger, but he could not give up on a small amount of drugs, he had to see who that person was. With more steps, getting clumsier, Sherlock noticed that the silhouette belonged to a male being. Frowning curiously, he did nothing but laugh at how drugged he was.

"Hey, is that you, John?" he questioned without removing the huge smile. "I can't believe how quickly Mrs. Hudson warned you, she's such a first-rate gossip," it did not respond. He just felt the weight of the look on that silhouette. "I know, I know what you're going to say, but I want you to—just know it. It's part of an investigation—this has nothing to do with Magnussen or..." He kept quiet.

Sherlock looked away and those words had stuck in his throat, starting to burn him. He closed his eyes and looked for a way to spit them out, yet it was impossible, they burned like a thousand fires. "Moriarty?" a voice asked and listening to him, he left him paralysed.

Sherlock opened his eyes and moved them where that voice came from which, if he were alive, would recognize her everywhere and better visualize who was in his room. "No..." he moaned.

"Did you miss me?" he questioned as he stepped out of those shadows and showed his identity.

The detective had paled, and fear had completely embraced him. Seeing that the one who came out of the darkness was no more and no less than his greatest rival, Jim Moriarty.

"It can't be..." he replied, while his hands covered part of his face. "I'm back Sherlock. And this time I'll make you burn..." The detective closed his eyes and began to look for a way out of this drug-generated effect. "You can't run away, Sherlock," Moriarty continued as he approached him. "This time the game has really started, and you will burn—You will burn as never before!" he cursed.

Those last words sounded loudly in his ears and Sherlock could not stand it. Deep inside he did not understand how Moriarty had returned from the dead. He killed himself before his eyes! No, it was not possible. He took his fingers to his temples and began to think harder, but Moriarty's voice chewed his brain and felt it tear down the enormous walls of his mind palace.

"Get out...! From my head!" he exasperated.

"Oh, Sherlock!" He continued standing in front of him. "Just let me see that heart of yours burn in the living flames of the most horrible fire..." and drew his face toward his ear. "Let me see you suffer, see you disappointed, see you go crazy..."

The detective opened his eyes, staring at that smile that crumbled everything around him. His body began to fall into a void, covered in those words that Moriarty had said.

Silence. Again, everything had been enveloped by silence.

The night continued to freeze the streets of London and during them, a little girl wandered confused, afraid, and not knowing where else she might go. Not knowing what to do, she sat in the middle of the street and began to look at the buildings around her. The girl breathed nervously waiting for a miracle to come to her aid, closed her small brown eyes, tried to control the breath that disturbed her and to her head came images that she had tried to erase in recent weeks: _"Please! Please, I beg you! I promise I will help you, but don't kill me..."_

"Mum..." whispered as she swam in her memory. _"I don't need you,"_ a second voice echoed in her memory. _"I never needed you. Now, the girl."_

A desperate cry began to rumble in her head and between it she heard: "BOOM!!" she shouted as she opened her eyes covered with the most enormous tears. She could not resist and started crying. Her tears ran down her cheeks, causing the dirt were wearing to be removed; she shook her head and looked at the sweater she was wearing. The blood stains were still there.

"Mum!" she shrieked. Her head was flooded with those memories she had blocked. The little one remembered her mother's body, on a large pool of blood; her glazed, empty look and a huge hole in her forehead. "Mummy!!"

Unable to control herself, the little girl began to scream in terror. She shook her head, wanting to erase those images from her memory, but it was impossible. They tormented her endlessly.

 _"You..."_ That voice came back to her head. _"What do you know about him...? Did you want him to help you? Sherlock Holmes...?"_

The girl stopped abruptly when she heard that name in her memories. And with her gaze fixed on the horizon, she heard that horrible voice uttering the name at every moment: "Sherlock Holmes... Sherlock Holmes... Sherlock Holmes..."

The little girl rose from the pavement and looked at the night. "221B Baker Street..." she whispered. She began to walk, lost in her memories and hearing the name on her head.

_Four in the morning._

The little girl had finally arrived at Baker Street. The temperature was colder than usual, but that did not matter to her and, without further ado, she approached the jet-coloured door with its golden numbers. She took the doorknocker with difficulty and began to strike slowly. Despite her slow blows, they sounded loud, and Mrs. Hudson rose from her bed in surprise. Not understanding what was happening, she put on her robe and left her room to approach the stairs.

"Sherlock?!" she called. "Sherlock, did you call someone at this hour?!"

She got no answer and, without waiting for him to answer her, with some fear she approached the door, not without first taking an umbrella that she had available. Mrs. Hudson knew she had to be careful. She turned the knob slowly and with fear raised the umbrella to venture open the door, taking with her a great surprise to discover who was knocking at her door at this late hour of the night. She was a little girl.

"Oh, my...!" she exclaimed surprised. "But—but you're a little girl."

The little girl observed her stunned and Mrs. Hudson let go of the umbrella, not caring if it broke. They both looked and the lady noticed that this little girl was completely neglected; from her clothes it was concluded that she had wandered for days, in her face the dust and the pollution of the city was noticed, However, what surprised her most was the blood on her grey sweater.

"My God! What happened to you, sweetheart?"

"Sherlock... Sherlock Holmes" inquired.

Mrs. Hudson was still surprised, she turned around went to the steps and she do not doubt it for any moment: "Sherlock, come quickly!!" But again, he got no answer. She rolled her eyes, approached the little one and she was frightened at the sight of her action. "Don't worry," she mentioned "I won't going to hurt to you. I just want you to come into my house. Sherlock lives here and you can talk to him, fine?" 

Even with distrust she let Mrs. Hudson take her by her small shoulders and when touching her, she perceived that she was cold. "But...! My God, my child, you feel like an iceberg! Quickly I will take you to my bedroom and warm you up, and then I'll call Sherlock."

Mrs. Hudson took a quick look at the street, closed the door, and put the key in. She took the girl to her room and when they arrived, she sat her on her bed, discovering that she was in a certain state of shock.

"Let me get you something warm," she repeated as she looked at her with a warm smile. She moved from there and opened her closet to take out a huge mat, with a terrible decoration, but very effective to avoid the cold. She stretched it out, shook it and put it around her. "Wait here, honey. I'll go find Sherlock," she said without erasing her smile.

She did not say or do anything, just observed. Not getting any answers, Mrs. Hudson left her room looking for her tenant. As she arrived and without thinking, she opened the door and to her surprise looked at Sherlock, lying on the floor with red eyes and certain tears sliding down his cheeks. "Sherlock!!" she screamed worried and approached him. "Oh my God!! What did you do?!!" she claimed as she moved her body. "Sherlock wake up!!"

"Stop..." he spoke softly. Hearing the sound, the frightened lady brought her ear to his mouth. "Stop... stop shouting. I'm fine."

Mrs. Hudson held her hands close to her chin and looked, like a concerned mother, at Sherlock as he struggled.

"Oh, Sherlock! What a shock you gave me!" she exclaimed as he sat down. He turned to look at her horribly. 

"I'm fine," he answered without encouragement. "Why have you been yelling my name?"

"Well, I saw you lying on the floor and I..."

"Not this moment," he angrily interrupted. "Ten minutes ago."

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I need you to come to my room."

"Do you have another spider on the wall?" he asked annoyingly.

"No, Sherlock. I think a client just arrived."

A strange and fascinated look came from him and, despite how he felt, he rose from the ground and came out of there. With some confusion, Mrs. Hudson went after him. On the way there were no words; Sherlock came to the room and slammed the door open.

"Sherlock, wait!" exclaimed Mrs. Hudson behind his back, "Be subtle because..."

"She's a child," he continued to miss.

"Yes," she sighed as she arrived with him and, over Sherlock's shoulder, he distinguished how she was lying on the bed, sleeping in foetal position. "Mrs. Hudson," he spoke still strangely, "what are you playing at?"

"Nothing, dear. She came asking for you."

Sherlock stepped into the room, looking at the little girl with the dim light that the lamp gave it. She was in deep sleep and he observed everything in perfect detail. He noticed the wear of her trousers, saw the sweater that was handmade and bloody. And more words sprang up around the little one. "Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked strangely.

"She's nine years old, soon to be ten. Originally from Northampton, she probably lived in the middle-class area of the city; because of her sweater, they used to buy clothes from local markets. She has been wandering for three weeks, almost four; she is malnourished, but she is survived and equal to dehydration. She was probably eating out of restaurant trash or stealing food from markets. She witnessed a murder; a relative. Her mother. And that is why she is here; she wants me to help her figure out who killed her mother."

"Oh, Sherlock!" she exclaimed in shock. "What are we going to do?" Sherlock turned around and with a smile saw Mrs. Hudson. "I'll take the case. Let me know as soon as she wakes up, I'll call John."

"But dear, it's almost five o'clock in the morning..."

"Never mind," he interrupted as he left her room. "Speaks to me as soon as she wakes up."

Sherlock went up the steps feeling excited about this new case. He needed to clear his mind after... that incident.


	2. She reminds me of you

The phone kept ringing and every time the telephone ring was heard, John Watson would put the pillow against his head and press hard so that the sound would not penetrate his ears, but it was impossible, who was calling had no interest in giving up.

"John..." his wife, who seemed not to bother her so much that the phone would ring late at night, babbled.

"No Mary..." he replied.

The sound continued throughout the Watson residence, and accepting his defeat, the doctor got out of bed, and walked through the lobby barely noticing the furniture or any other object with which he could hit himself. It was not yet dawn and the dream dominated him deeply. As he approached the table, he took the phone and with a huge yawn he answered.

"He...? llo?" Curious, John did not hear anything. "Hello?!" he exclaimed groggily.

"John, your phone is upside down," he heard and looked at the device strangely, he turned out to be true. John tsked his tongue annoyingly and set the phone straight.

"Hello?" he repeated.

"John, I need you to come, I have a case."

"Sherlock?" he exclaimed confused. "My God, Sherlock! It is five o'clock in the morning! What the hell were you thinking to call at this hour?"

"You always get up early, John. I need you to come."

"But for... Sherlock, I..." and therein he heard the phone hang up.

John sighed bitterly, settled the phone, and walked to his room to go back to sleep. As he entered his bedroom, his wife with a seven-month pregnancy, was huddled between the sheets. He smiled when he saw her, she looked so beautiful, so gently and he lay on the bed and never stopped looking at her.

"What did Sherlock want?" Mary asked as she felt her husband next to her.

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "Nothing important."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, yes,” he answered in a tired voice, “he said something about a case, but I will go later. I now want to stay asleep," he hugged her, "and be with my wife."

Mary smiled, turned to hug him, and kiss him on his lips. John did not avoid his wife’s mime and responded to that kiss, however, the cell phone rang and separated from his wife’s sweet lips. With a bitter sigh, John took his cell phone and looked at the text message that had reached him. As Mary looked at him, she smiled amusement.

_"I’m waiting for you."_

_SH._

John opened his eyes wide and with that expression he rose out of bed. Mary kept her smile. "I think it’s very important the Sherlock's case, don’t you?"

"I hope so, or I’ll beat him for getting me out of bed."

John Watson performed his morning routine: a bath, shave and a quick breakfast consisting of a sip of coffee and a bite to a slice of toast. A proper routine when it came to meeting Sherlock Holmes. Mary saw her husband, who was putting on her vest and getting ready for her next adventure. "I’ll try to be here before dinner."

"I do not think so," she said with a playful smile as she helped him fit the neck of his trench coat. " John, take care and send our regards to Sherlock."

He smiled at his wife and gave her a warm kiss on those nice, soft lips and ended with one on her belly. With one last smile John left his home and headed to 221B Baker Street.

* * *

That little girl slowly opened her eyes and stood up to look confused around her, everything was blurry, she focused her sights and having a less cloudy view, she looked more attentively at the room that stood out with a very homely design. She sat on the edge of the bed, thinking for a few moments, when she noticed the door was being opened.

"Hey!" exclaimed that lady, who had received her at dawn. "How are you this morning, honey?" She looked at her still with fear and did not respond. "Well," she continued with a nervous smile when the little one did not give her an answer. "I hope you had plenty of rest last night."

"Sherlock," the girl released.

"Oh, honey, don’t despair!" she burst, as she sat beside her. "Sherlock will see you as soon as he can, only he’s waiting for John; he can’t solve a case without him, they’re quite a duo. But if we are waiting for John to arrive, why don’t you take a bath and have a breakfast?"

The girl was still so surprised that she did not blink. The lady kept her smile, but she did not really know what was going on with her and, in her, she did not know how to express herself anymore.

"I think... we haven’t presented ourselves properly," she said to break the cold silence. "I’m Mrs Hudson, I own this flat and yet they tend to confuse me with the housekeeper. And your name is...?" The little girl’s eyes began to flicker with the usual naturalness, but she did not respond. Mrs Hudson looked more perplexed at the girl. "Well, how about you take a bath? I’ll prepare you the breakfast."

She did not answer. The girl just got up and Mrs Hudson led her to the bathroom. Meanwhile, Sherlock was locked in his flat, sitting in front of his laptop looking for news on everything related to Northampton. His primary focus was on homicides; however, he found no notes from the last four weeks that were spoken of. He consulted armed robberies, kidnapping, aggravated rape, anything that could lead to a death, but nothing. He placed his hands under his chin and thought because there were no yellow journalism versions on that locality. Curious he took his cell phone and sent a message:

_"I need reports on any incident in Northampton. ASAP."_

_SH._

He rose from the chair and continued to make a call. "Hello?" someone answered after the first bell. "I need you to send me the newspapers for the last four weeks and to contain columns related to Northampton."

"Why do you need all that?" he questioned. "You just come and drop them off at 221B Baker Street." And he hung up.

* * *

On the other hand, Inspector Greg Lestrade brought his American coffee and donuts to complement his morning routine when he felt his cell phone vibrate. Strangely and with difficulty, he took it out of his coat bag and looked at the source of the message.

"Oh my God..." he said reluctantly.

"Is something wrong, boss?" asked Agent Donovan who was come up next to him.

"I need a huge favour," he turned to look worried.

"It has to do with that psychopath, right?" she questioned with an arched eyebrow.

"Does that matter? I need you to get me a record of any incidents that have happened recently in Northampton."

"Northampton?" she exclaimed surprised. "It’s not even part of our divisions."

"Never mind, Donovan, you get me everything you can from these past few weeks."

Inspector Lestrade took a huge bite out of his doughnut and as fast as lightning he enters to the edifice and Donovan left the officer startled with the order.

* * *

The bath that the little girl had taken had been wonderful for her, Mrs. Hudson was kneeling in front of her, drying her short brown hair and discovering that her skin was of a beautiful warn beige colour. The girl did not stop looking at her, because she never stopped talking.

"You are a very pretty girl," she beamed. "You know, I have a little dress that maybe you could wear while you stay here and we get you something more suitable, okay?" And she nodded. "Wow!" Mrs Hudson gushed, "at last an answer. Okay, I’m done drying your hair, now I want you to put on this underwear while I go get that dress, okay?"

Again, the little one nodded again and Mrs. Hudson smiled. She got up from the ground and walked to the door to go for that dress. As she walked back to her room, she heard the knock on the principal door and surprised her, she came to answer the call and received a huge surprise.

"How can I help you?" Mrs. Hudson questioned when she saw four men in different uniforms and several stacks of newspapers.

"We’re here to let this charge that was requested from this address."

Mrs. Hudson pulled her head out to discover the four delivery trucks parked in front of her building. Without being able to understand she turned to the steps and I do not doubt it or moment more.

"Sherlock?!" she shouted.

"Let them in!!" he replied from his living room.

"Well... go ahead gentlemen" Mrs. Hudson conceded as she stepped aside, and the men began to pass with the piles of newspapers.

At that time John arrived at Baker Street and as he approached his old house, he could see several men passing by carrying the piles of newspapers. Confused, he entered the apartment and looked at Mrs. Hudson at the bottom of the stairs.

"Mrs Hudson," he called as he approached to greet her.

"John, dear, how are you doing?" she said as she answered the greeting. "Could you stay and check them out? I have something to do."

"But, Mrs Hudson, what is all this?" he quizzed as he saw her leave.

"It’s about the case Sherlock has!"

"I should have guessed," he replied and continued his way up the stairs to the living room. He went in and looked at the detective, reading a newspaper and how he was in the middle of huge piles of them. "Sherlock?"

"You’re finally here. Three hours late, but you arrived," he replied without putting the paper down.

"I wasn’t going to come here at five o'clock in the morning," he hesitated.

"What a shame!" He closed the paper and looked at him. “How irresponsible of you."

John let out a sigh with annoyance and at that moment heard one of the men who brought newspapers asking permission to pass, he stepped aside and looked at the scene in confusion.

"Where do I leave these?" the young man asked to Sherlock.

"Right there," he replied without looking at him.

"Sherlock, what’s this about?"

"It’s part of the John case and speaking of the case..." he mentioned as he walked to the door. "Mrs. Hudson, she is already awake?!" he shouted. John was more confused than he already was. "Yes, we are having breakfast!" she replied. Sherlock headed down the stairs quickly.

"Wait, Sherlock!" John exclaimed as he went after him. "What is this case about?"

"You’ll see for yourself."

John did nothing but march on his friend, until they both arrived in the kitchen, and to John’s surprise, there was a little girl eating like it was the end of the world.

When the door was heard, she looked up and observed the two men: One was tall; white complexion; curly black hair, bright green eyes, and a very striking cheekbone. The other one was a little short; very light brown hair, almost blond with a few grey hairs being somewhat visible on the side of the temples and with grey eyes full of surprise.

Having looked at them, and apparently analysed them, she looked down and continued to eat.

"Do you guys want breakfast?" Mrs. Hudson asked when she noticed no action from them.

Still confused John turned to look at her and could see how she was wearing her apron, in one hand her spatula and in the other a frying pan preparing some scrambled eggs that smelled delicious.

"No, thank you, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock spoke for both and took the chair in front of the little one and sat down.

The little girl looked up again and saw the tall man, who looked at her in detail. Seeing the pressure Sherlock was generating, John approached him and saw the girl move her brown eyes toward him.

"Ah... Sherlock, an explanation would be nice," he spoke grudgingly as he grinned.

"John, she is our client," he said as he put his hands under his chin.

"The little girl?" he puzzled. "I thought it had something to do with Moriarty."

"No," Sherlock fumed.

"I thought you would take no more cases, until you solved... that," he continued worried.

"I made an exception. You’re here because your mother was murdered," John and Mrs. Hudson looked at him stumped, "so speak," he demanded sternly. The little girl looked surprised.

"Sherlock," John spoke with a smile and as he held his shoulder, "can we talk for a moment, in private? Please?"

"Now?" he questioned curious without taking off the little one’s gaze.

"Yes, now," he said angrily and took the sleeve off his jacket and lifted him up.

Confused Sherlock began to move alongside John and they both left the kitchen.

"What was that?" he demanded angrily.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" John scolded.

"Are you really asking that?"

"No..." he stopped, and he look at him seriously, "No, that’s not. I mean how you talk to the little girl like that."

"She witnessed her mother’s murder," he replied as if nothing while cleaning the sleeve of his jacket.

"Sherlock," John continued as he put one of his hands on his forehead, in a sign of despair, "she is a child. We are dealing with a little girl, who is traumatized by her mother's incident, so I ask you to be gentle person with her." More confused than before, Sherlock looked at John and all he could do was arch his eyebrow, hinting that he did not understand what he was asking. John sighed desperately and saw him. "What I’m trying to say is, don’t be you!"

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "I understand—no, not really," he ended with his frown.

John sighed again with that bitterness and seriousness that characterized him. Sherlock kept his eyebrow arched, but accepted what John had given him to understand, so they both went back to the kitchen and observed as Mrs. Hudson served those delicious eggs to the little one.

"Guys, don't you really want breakfast?" she insisted, like a worried mother.

"Later Mrs. Hudson," John replied with a smile.

Sherlock again took a seat in front of the girl and John took a chair to sit on middle of the table. They both looked at the little girl who kept eating.

"Hello," John spoke to break the ice. "I am Doctor John Watson, and this is Sherlock Holmes," and the little one raised her eyes. "Sherlock told me that you need our help to solve a case, how can we help you?" She took her glass and began to drink the juice desperately. John and Sherlock remained calm, one more than the other. "What’s your name?" John asked when he saw that she had finished drinking her juice. She wiped herself with the sleeve of the dress and looked at them.

"Bell," she articulated. Mrs. Hudson and John were surprised; however, Sherlock only raised his eyebrow.

"Bell?" John asked curiously.

"It’s short for Isabelle," Sherlock replied.

"Oh!" exclaimed John and Mrs Hudson.

"Bell," she repeated, somewhat annoyed.

"You don’t like Isabelle?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she poured her some smoked sausages.

"That is why she said Bell, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock continued, and she looked at him with some disgust.

"Well, Bell," John continued, "tell us. What happened?"

Bell looked at John and he looked curious, there was something in her that he had seen before, but he did not remember where from. Silence reigned in the kitchen; they could only hear what Mrs Hudson was frying in the pan. John and Sherlock did not stop seeing her until she opened her mouth and what she said left the three of them surprised.

"Afghanistan..."

Upon hearing her, Mrs. Hudson turned to see her terrified, Sherlock lowered his hands from his chin and through his eyes showed himself that expression and John opened his eyes wide.

Hudson turned to see her terrified, Sherlock lowered his hands from his chin and through his eyes showed himself that expression and John opened his eyes wide  
"I beg your pardon?" the Doctor asked nervously.

"Afghanistan," she repeated and ate a slice of bread while staring at them.

Sherlock and John looked at each other confused and with some fear.

"Pardon me, Bell," John continued, while observing Sherlock, "but why did you say Afghanistan?"

She finished eating the slice of bread and saw back at Doctor Watson, who looked back at her.

"War, war in Afghanistan. A leg injury has already improved. Married with a liar, a baby on the way and a brother who drinks a lot..."

Again, silence reigned in the room and everyone was amazed, to such an extent that Mrs. Hudson dropped the spatula, bringing the two men back to reality. Bell looked calm and kept eating as if nothing had happened.

"Sherlock," John called with much fear and as he looked back at his friend, he could see how he was as surprised as he was. "Sherlock?" "Excuse me," he said as he rose from the chair. Surprised by that reaction, John stood up and went after him.

"Wait, Sherlock!" he exclaimed and stopped at the first step. "Sherlock, what just happened?"

He moved his greyish green eyes toward his companion and barely swallowed saliva.

"She just... just did..." he said without being able to believe it. "She used the science of deduction."


	3. With the archives

"Is it a joke of yours?" John asked with a nervous laugh. Sherlock's gaze retained an impeccable amazement. "It's not your joke..."

John laid his hands on his face and saw Sherlock without believing what had just happened in that kitchen. They both stood there, standing on the steps, surprised. In it they heard that they knocked on the front door and the two moved their eyes to discover Lestrade.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked strangely. "Oh, Greg!" John exclaimed. "Come in, come in."

"The door was open," he said as he approached them. "Sherlock, I have something of what you asked for, the rest will be brought by Donovan in a..." Lestrade stopped talking when he noticed Sherlock who had a blank stare and, apparently, looked paler than normal. "Sherlock, are you, all right?" he inquired worried. 

The detective moved his eyes and observed the inspector. "Yes," he replied very seriously, turned around and climbed the stairs. Lestrade stared at the scene and, until Sherlock got lost on the steps, turned to see John with a big question mark on his face. "What is it? Does it have something to do with Moriarty?"

"No," John denied, "not really." The inspector did not understand what was happening and at that time Mrs. Hudson appeared with a face covered in nerves. "John!" she whimpered.

"What is it, Mrs Hudson?" he asked worried. "Oh, John! It's about Bell..."

"Bell?" Lestrade interrupted confused but was ignored.

"Calm down, Mrs Hudson. The girl, did she do something?"

"Girl...? What the hell is going on here?"

Watson and Mrs Hudson turned to see him, and they did was signal to him to follow them. Lestrade began to follow their restless steps until they reached the kitchen door and, through the small glass that was there, the three peeped out and the inspector discovered a little girl.

"Who is she?" he questioned strangely. They both turned to look at him.

"She arrived this morning looking for Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson replied.

"Yes, her name is Isabelle," John continued, "but the point of this is that..." in it, the girl moved her eyes and spotted the three heaped at that window and they quickly got out of there.

John and Mrs Hudson stuck to the wall and their faces changed complete, but Lestrade still did not understand what was happening. The kitchen door opened, and Bell appeared, analysing everything around her. As she turned and saw the three adults on the wall, she turns her attention at Lestrade and he also looked at the little one, not knowing what to do or say.

"Scotland Yard, a distant wife, doughnuts and American coffee every day," she said like nothing, turned around and walked the steps up.

Speechless at what the little girl told him, he turned to look at both. John raised both eyebrows and squeezed his lips as he nodded, and Mrs. Hudson had her hands on her chest and a terrified look.

"Did..." Greg gasped. "Did you tell her something about me?"

"Nope," John replied as he folded his arms.

"Then that little girl just did what..."

"Sherlock does," John continued by him and Lestrade remained motionless.

Bell had arrived in the living room and appreciated Sherlock sitting on sofa, his hands on his chin and his stare lost. She stood under the doorframe.

"How much do you deduce?" he asked without looking at her. The little one was surprised.

Not hearing an answer, Sherlock moved his eyes toward her, who quickly moved hers toward the entire room. The girl went inside and began to walk through all the piles of newspapers that were already watered by the living room. Sherlock followed her with his eyes, he was curious about what the little one was doing. Bell kept looking at everything with fascination and with a soft smile despite the mess that the room was.

"What did you deduce?" he insisted.

Bell turned to look at him and was thoughtful for a few moments. Not hearing a word from his mouth, Sherlock arched his eyebrow and refused to look at her anymore. She started walking up to the couch and observed at it in detail and the detective noticed who the girl was lying on the floor. Bell looked under the couch and with a twinkle in her eyes, reached out to pull something out from under the furniture. Finding what she wanted, she got up and approached Sherlock, who try facing straight but the detective's greyish green eyes crossed with the girl's brown eyes. Both analysed each other. Sherlock began to see more details in the child, many of which he omitted in his first deduction:

_"She is ambidextrous, she draws constantly; she knows how to play the piano; she is insecure; she has dark circles, she never sleeps well, possibly sleepwalker; she is spoiled, she loves chocolate..."_

The more they were analysed, Sherlock perceived something familiar in her, however, her mind failed to connect that familiarity. He cursed inside and looked down. Seeing him like this, Bell reached out and opened her palm to show Sherlock what she had found under the couch. He looked up and got surprised what she had; the syringe he had used last night to get high.

"Bad," she said. "This is bad."

In face of this, Sherlock was shocked and therein those moments, in the distance, he could hear several footsteps came closer, he knew that everyone was about to enter the living room and with some fear he took the syringe from the girl's hand, hiding him in the pocket of his coat. John and Lestrade arrived and figured out at the scene in which Sherlock saw with the same strangeness and paleness than before and Bell was looking at the detective with a frown.

"Sherlock," John spoke, but he ignored him. The detective kept looking at the girl. It was as if through his eyes he asked her not to say anything about the syringe. "Sherlock?" he questioned somewhat annoyingly.

"John," he replied, still observing her.

"What's going on here?"

Bell changed his frown to smile at the detective. She had understood him and turned away with that smile and looked at Doctor Watson, who was puzzled by the situation.

"Is everything, all right?" Lestrade asked. Hearing his voice, Sherlock turned to look at him a little confused.

"Oh, Greyson!" he exclaimed.

"It's Greg," he argued.

"Really?" Sherlock asked curiously and got up off the couch. "It doesn't matter," and settled his coat, "do you have what I asked for?"

"Here," Lestrade said as he lifted a yellow folder, "I have a part."

"What about the rest?"

"Donovan will bring it in a while."

"Well, I hope it didn't take too long. We're in dire need of information on this case." Sherlock put his hands behind him, and he noticed who Bell sat on John's sofa, undisguised showed a furious look. "That's John's sofa!" he interrupted, and the little girl looked up in terror.

"Sherlock," John warned, "don't you start."

"I like here," the child confessed.

"I need him in his place," the detective continued as he observed her with exasperation.

"Sherlock, it's okay if I'm somewhere else; it's not the end of the world," John took the famous customer chair and put it in the middle of the two sofas. "See? There's nothing wrong."

To see red, Sherlock looked back at John, who was already sitting in the chair, and continued with Lestrade. He approached him and extended his hand asking for the folio. The inspector sighed bitterly and obeying him, he gave the folio to Sherlock. This one was taken from him and returned to his sacred sofa.

As he stood in front of the girl, he cast a look full of rage. Bell ignored him and climbed up her legs to the resting arms, left them hanging there and leaned back on the sofa, staring at Sherlock. The detective felt the look of the little girl and deep inside began to bother him.

"It would be good," he spoke exasperated, "that you will begin to tell what happened to your mother. That will make it easier for us to identify it in the archives."

"Sherlock," John warned again.

"What exactly is going on?" Lestrade questioned. "I need to know what I'm getting myself into."

"Isabelle," John mentioned and the girl gave him an annoying look, so powerful was that anger that he was surprised. "I mean, Bell, she came in early this morning asking Sherlock for help. Apparently, her mother was murdered."

"And she witnessed the murder?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I think it's obvious, inspector, otherwise she wouldn't be here," he deadpanned and Lestrade looked at him seriously.

"Bell," John continued, expressed a fatherly sweetness, and the little one moved her eyes with him. "I know this is hard for you, Mrs. Hudson told us you were in shock when you arrived," and she could hear how Sherlock threw a slight laugh. He saw him upset. "But we need you to tell us exactly what happened so we can help you."

The little girl's brown eyes began to crystallize, and she breathed very slowly. John and Lestrade looked at her worried, instead Sherlock read the cases about Northampton.

"Mom," she bewailed and closed her eyes. All those memories of that night came to her mind. " Mom... wicked man... boom."

"Boom?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock looked up at hearing that word.

"Boom," he repeated curious. "A gun," and as a madman began to search the archives for cases involving with weapons.

John and Lestrade saw curious at Sherlock, then returned to Bell who was still lost in her memories. A minute passed and Bell had not uttered a word, the doctor and the inspector began to worry about the sudden silence of the girl. What was her doing? How much was in her head?

Sherlock was still doing his thing, looking like a crazy man. Both men no longer knew how to act, until they saw that, through the girl's cheeks, a few tears began to slip. "Bell?" John questioned worried and Sherlock looked up at her. "Bell, are you okay?"

The girl had disconnected from reality, was submissive to her memories and a stunned Sherlock knew perfectly well in the state she was in.

"Isabelle?" John called, hoping the girl would listen to him. Sherlock raised his hand to his face to shut him up and he was surprised. " What?" he questioned annoyingly.

"Don't you see, John?" the detective challenged.

"See what?" he questioned strangely and Lestrade felt lost in the face of all this.

Sherlock lowered his hand and slightly lifted himself from the sofa, dropping several documents on the floor, approached the girl and standing in front of her, knelt to better observe her.

"She's..." he stopped nervous "She's in her mind palace."

John opened his eyes wide and Lestrade arched an eyebrow than his strangeness. Bell was lost in her mind palace. What was in this little girl's head? How much was she storing? Would there be valuable information in her? As more questions hit on the detective's head, he felt a part of his mind slowly cracking.

"That girl, she's a little clone of you," Lestrade gasped.

Upon hearing such a revelation, Sherlock reacted, rose from the ground, and looked at the inspector with courage and surprise in his expression.

"This is impossible!" he maintained. The two looked at him strangely.

"What do you mean, Sherlock?" John asked confused.

"It is not possible!" he defended. "No one, no person on this earth is capable of understanding the science of deduction! No one to perfection! No one can have a mind palace...! No one!"

Lestrade and Watson looked at each other and then resumed with Sherlock.

"What about Magnussen?"

"He...! He is beside the point! He was not a person," Holmes mumbled. "My point is, that little girl," and he pointed her, "that little girl can’t do what I can do."

They both looked at each other very puzzled, what was the reason for the detective’s sudden outburst? Did no one understand the science of deduction? Could no one have a mind palace? And the more they thought, the more they looked at each other with a certain mischief. They both thought they understood the detective’s highly disturbed behaviour.

"Sherlock," John spoke. "Are you... jealous?"

Before those words, the fury on the detective's eyes had changed to a startled. Seeing his reaction, Inspector Lestrade did not avoid letting out a slight laugh. Sherlock Holmes, the great consulting detective, envies a little girl who possesses his own abilities. This was unbelievable.

"Are you jealous?" John repeated with a soft smile. "No," he argued, and his cheeks were painted a little red. "Yes, you are," Lestrade continued, trying not to laugh again.

"Lestrade, shut up," he ordered. "Sherlock," John called and this one turned to look at him. "Easy, okay? Let us see, Bell poses your same qualities, they’re not as developed in themselves, but understand your science of deduction."

"Do you really have to remember it, John? How redundant you are, you surprise me."

"Sherlock..." spoke seriously.

"John, I can’t understand what you’re getting at, but let me tell you, no, I’m not jealous that this little girl has my own qualities," he whinged. "What I can say is that, if she knows how to use the deduction, she will solve the murder and I can concentrate on..." he paused and grimaced at his face, as if it hurt what he wanted to say. He just could not. "You know what I mean, John," he continued seriously.

Lestrade and John looked at each other again and changed those mockery to seriousness and silence reigned in the room. It was strange that that would happen here at 221B Baker Street, but this had become an awkwardness. Minutes became centuries and seconds in millennia. Sherlock walked away from John, sat on his sofa, and could see that Bell was opening her eyes, from which the rest of her tears fell. It looked like the little girl was in shock and she let go in tears.

John and Lestrade could no longer be more surprised. The doctor approached the little girl and tried to reassure her, but it was impossible. Bell would not stop crying and would almost scream at his mother. Sherlock looked at the scene without any expression and John put Bell on his chest trying to calm her down like a baby. Lestrade had felt his heart break to pieces; he was very sensitive to the infants. Bell took refuge in John and continued to shed her tears on the doctor’s shirt as Sherlock frowned at what he witnessed.

"Are you still sure she can solve this alone?" Lestrade asked to the detective annoyingly, who turned to look at him in surprise. "Sherlock," John continued, annoyed, "Bell needs us."

A pressure flooded the detective’s head as he was being devoured by the looks of these two men. His only action was to rise from the sofa, adjust the buttons on his coat and look at them seriously.

"Fine," he replied angrily and went to lock himself up in his room.

It took John a while to control Bell, but the little one had calmed down. "I think the best thing to do is leave her with Mrs. Hudson until Sherlock stops throwing tantrums," Lestrade said and John turned to look at him. "It’s true," he mentioned as he folded his arms. "This is incredible."

"That she does what Sherlock does?"

"I always thought Sherlock was unique, for doing what he does. And now Bell shows up and makes me think of so many things," Watson said with a half-smile. Lestrade looked surprised, but John only understood himself because he said that and turned to see Lestrade’s thoughtful face. "However, Bell was wrong about one thing about me," Lestrade more confused than he was already saw him with an arched eyebrow. "She told me I have a brother when I actually have sister. She made the same mistake as Sherlock."

John laughed for himself, gave Lestrade a soft pat on the shoulder and retired. As he stepped out of the building, John looked curious at a huge black vehicle parked in front of 221B and, laid on one of the doors, was a beautiful girl texting non-stop. All he could do was sigh with reluctance and he approach her.

"Hello," he said something nervous.

The girl looked up and smiled at him, stepped aside, and opened the door for John to enter. Without further ado John obeyed and stepped into that great-class vehicle. As he was inside, he looked at her travelling companion, constantly texting, until he turned to look at John and he smiled at him.

"Hello. Again," he vacillated to liven the mood.

She smiled and returned to her phone. With his smile and a somewhat strange look, John knew it would be of no use to talk and turned to look at the panorama. Several minutes later, Doctor Watson looked at the place that had arrived: the Diogenes Club. Another long sigh came, and he got out of the vehicle, saying goodbye to the text girl who just smiled at him. Upon entering the place, he was received by the manager who led him to where John was already waiting to go: The office of Mycroft Holmes.

Upon arriving at that place John entered and, sitting behind that desk, was the eldest of the Holmes brothers.

"Ah, Doctor Watson!" he exclaimed on seeing him. "Please have a seat," curious John obeyed and observed as Mycroft approached him with two cups. "Tea?" questioned with a fake smile.

"Thank you," John said as he drank the cup. "Tell me, Mycroft, how can I help you?"

"Oh, Doctor Watson!" he exclaimed as he sat in front of him. "I am offended that you think I only sought him out for help."

"Well, my intuition says it’s something to do with Sherlock," in that he laughed with some nervousness and drank his tea.

"Well, your intuition is correct, Doctor Watson. Let us get to the point, who’s the little girl?" John almost spit out his tea when he heard Mycroft’s very direct question. He put the cup on the table and took the napkin to wipe his lips. "Pardon?" he asked sputtered.

"You heard me perfectly, Doctor Watson. Who is the girl who arrived at 221B?"

"Well... I, ah—came asking for help for a case..."

"What’s her name?" John looked at him with huge eyes. "The girl, what’s her name?"

"Isa—Isabelle" he confessed.

"Oh, Isabelle!" Mycroft exclaimed with a smile. "Like our queen."

"Yes..." John said.

"Isabelle, it’s a beautiful name," and he took his tea with fine elegance.

Unaware of what to do John raised his eyebrows and bowed his head to avoid eye contact with Mycroft. The older brother Holmes put his cup of tea on the plate and looked at Watson.

"And why did she look for my brother?"

"Well, I really don’t know. Mycroft, Bell..."

"Bell?" He interrupted with a half-smile. "Already so soon with diminutives?"

"She just doesn’t like being called Isabelle."

"Oh, what a shame! With such a beautiful name and she detest it, that is terrible. Well, what kind of case does she have to seek Sherlock’s help?"

"All we know is that her mother was murdered, but she doesn’t talk much, she..." suddenly John shut his mouth to no longer report anything more to the eldest of the Holmes.

Mycroft raised his eyebrow and observed him. John was still thoughtful and looking for the right words to tell him about the girl. "What about Isabelle?" John looked at Mycroft. "What’s so special about her?" John sighed, he would never cheat on Mycroft Holmes, on any Holmes actually. 

"She does the same as Sherlock. Deduction." Mycroft narrowed his eyes, frowning very sharply and beheld the face of John Watson, in which one could see admiration and surprise.

"Doctor Watson, do not come with these games, the deduction only is known by Sherlock and I."

"And Magnussen," he said quietly.

"Sorry?" he asked annoyingly.

"Nothing... But it is true what I tell you, Mycroft, that little girl has that ability. She hasn’t been able to exploit it like you do, but she does."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow further, unconvinced by John Watson’s words. He placed his cup of tea on the table, crossed his right leg over his left and settled on the sofa.

"Doctor Watson," Mycroft spoke seriously, "did this child come asking my brother for tutoring to expand her knowledge of deduction? Or did you propose it?"

"No... No!" he exclaimed upset. "Someone murdered her mother, and she wants us to help her, she is desperate, she needs us..."

"Not as England needs Sherlock Holmes," he interrupted. "You know perfectly well the conditions under which Sherlock is still free, walked by our fair England. He needs to be totally focused on James Moriarty."

"Mycroft, I know, I know better than anyone, but..."

"No Doctor Watson, you don’t know," he stood up from his couch and looked at John. "I will help you solve this case, so that Sherlock will be free as soon as possible. Just tell me what else you know about it."

"Ah... well, I think the girl came from Northampton and..."

"That’s enough," Holmes interrupted angrily and left that place leaving John completely surprised and upset. Completely alone, John heard his cell phone and saw that a message had arrived:

_"Don’t talk to him about the child."_

_SH._

John understood that the message had been sent more than twenty minutes ago. Why have he received it so far? Simple. When he was in the vehicle, they entered a tunnel in which lost signal, and when arriving at the club also the signal was not very good. He cursed himself from within and laid his hand on his forehead. A few moments passed and Mycroft appeared with a folder. John looked up and discovered how he was handing him a folio, took it and looked at the title:

**_"Jones, Samara."_ **

"What is this?" he puzzled.

"Your case, Doctor Watson," he said in a despotic tone.


	4. File 1: Samara Jones

Watson had in his hands that file named "Jones, Samara." He was amazed at what he saw, and Mycroft just smiled with incredible cynicism.

"What the hell...? How the hell did you...?" he sputtered.

"Open it," he commanded. Without hesitation John obeyed him and with desperation opened the file. He pulled out too many papers next to a few photographs, placed them on the table and began to spread it like a complete madman. "Don’t worry, Doctor, the papers aren’t going anywhere."

John looked up at him with very amazement and Mycroft kept that smile with his bloody effrontery, giving himself the airs of an all-powerful being. Typical of him. "What do you know, Mycroft?" John asked as he looked down at all the papers and thought which to take first.

"As soon as you mentioned to me the name of the little girl, and who possesses the same quality that defines Sherlock and me, I knew it was referring to the murder of Northampton," in it, Watson took one of the photographs and visualized a beautiful woman with long brown hair and brown eyes, identical to those of little Bell. "Sherlock is probably like a crazy looking for information in the newspapers or with his friends at Scotland Yard, but, regarding it, I’m afraid he won’t find anything."

"Why?" he asked strangely as he removed his eyes from the photograph and posed them on Mycroft. "Oh, Doctor Watson!" he exclaimed as he drank his cup of tea. "I hope that you have time to hear a little story."

* * *

Meanwhile at 221B Baker Street, Sherlock left his room and walked straight to the living room. As he arrived, he appreciated, with a huge surprise, the child who was sitting on the floor and with a lot of newspapers around her. Feeling the detective’s presence, Bell turned and looked at him, standing there, observing the chaos in which she found herself. With nothing else to do, she looked back at the papers and continued to move them. Sherlock approached where the little girl was and observed her curiously.

"I thought you were with Mrs. Hudson," the detective snapped. She shook her head. "What are you doing?" he questioned prying as annoying. "I help," she answered and threw a newspaper at Sherlock, who stepped aside to avoid it, and as the paper fell to the ground, he sighed bitterly.

"Your help would be good, if you said in detail what happened," he said angrily, but she ignored him and, realizing it, he sighed again with that bitterness and rolled his eyes.

Sherlock walked over to his much-loved couch and noted that on the floor were the files Lestrade had brought him a couple of hours ago. Somewhat seriously, Sherlock bent over to take them so he could read them and look for more information regarding the case.

As she picked up everything, he took a seat and took his cell phone out of his coat bag. He looked if he had any kind of message but had received nothing. Something desperate dialled John’s number. Phone ring and quickly cut to voice mail. Listening to John’s stupid recording, Sherlock left the following message.

"John, as soon as you hear this, go back to the apartment—and change that damn voice mail message." With a serious look, he hung up the call, turned off the screen and put it back in his coat.

* * *

"Well Mycroft, start talking," severe John said.

The eldest of the Holmes took one last sip of his tea and tasted it with too much pleasure, so much so that John was surprised to see him, perhaps feeling some disgust, however, he could not define exactly what he felt. He put the cup and saucer on the table and gently wiped his lips.

"Well, Doctor Watson, what you have here is the report on the murder of Samara Jones, who is the mother of the little girl who came with you."

"Okay," he spilled and resumed his view of the papers. "And why do you have such a simple murder case? That’s work for Scotland Yard."

"Well, Samara Jones was a woman who caused certain problems for the British government." John looked at him surprised and at the same time at Samara’s photograph. How could this beautiful woman possibly be in trouble with the British government?

"I understand your surprise, Doctor," Mycroft continued, "however, several mistakes she made in her youth caused us a very strong headache."

"What did she do?" John questioned worried.

"She was under investigation for terrorism cases, bombs in subway stations, threats to parliament..." he said as if nothing. "Was she a terrorist?"

"Doctor Watson, you are definitely deaf-eared. What part did you not understand?" he questioned annoyingly.

"Well Mycroft, explain me well!" he exclaimed upset. the eldest Holmes rolled his eyes. "Ten years ago, we had a case of a suicide bomber at London Underground stations. I don’t know if you remember, Rupert Casey."

"Oh yes! I remember."

"When that tragic incident happened, as you will recall, there were more than thirty dead and a hundred wounded."

"Yes, it was a terrible thing," he replied flatly.

"A great tragedy for London that day."

"How does this involve Samara Jones?"

Mycroft moved from his seat and led his hand to the small table where Watson had scrambled all the papers, took one to show him why they involved Bell’s mother.

"When we were investigating about Casey, we learned that he was living with Samara Jones and a third man we could never identify, at which point we arrested Samara. She denied any connection with the attack; she claimed she didn’t know Casey’s plans and she told us he was a weirdo, but nice guy and she never imagined he was a terrorist."

"And were you found her complicit in the incident?"

"Not really, Samara went free within days of arresting her for scant evidence, but we never stopped watching her, eventually we realized that she had a daughter and almost always did not stay stable in one place. She was constantly moving from one part of England to another. And that was of great concern to us."

"It was like, if she was running away," John whispered curiously. "Maybe she knew we had her under surveillance, but she was charged with a felony and in her youth, she was not a model girl. As I said, a headache for us," he let loose with contempt.

"And Rupert Casey is Bell’s father?" John suddenly asked. "Unfortunately, Doctor, we do not know that information. Samara never recorded the father’s name."

"Then... Bell is alone," he mentioned surprised and sad. "Not really, Doctor Watson," John quickly looked up at Mycroft. "Samara has a sister; when we arrested her for the Casey case, the sister pulled her strings to release her."

"And where is the sister?"

"When we heard about Samara’s death, we were looking for her sister, but so far, nothing. It’s like she vanished from this land."

"Do you think her is...?" he asked nervously. "I couldn’t tell you if she was dead, Doctor Watson. All we know is that she went to North America and we lost track of her."

"Was she also involved in terrorism cases?"

"No, the sister has another kind of record, somewhat more similar to that of that woman," Mycroft replied, and John looked curious. "You mean..." he paused. He thought for a long minute until his brain made a connection. "To Irene Adler?"

Mycroft nodded.

"Only Sister Jones isn’t so fussy in flashy cases, not at least like that woman, she’s more subtle in what she does."

"God, what a family!" John exclaimed. "Anything else I should know?"

"That is correct, Doctor Watson. Samara Jones' last registered employment was as secretary to Charles Augustus Magnussen."

And upon hearing that name, John stood up from the couch and looked at Mycroft Holmes in terror.

* * *

The silence at 221B Baker Street was abruptly interrupted by the screams of little Isabelle. Sherlock, hearing the girl’s desperate scream, dropped everything he had in his hands and lifted himself from his sofa.

"What’s the matter with you?!" he shouted nervous.

Bell kept screaming until tears came out of her eyes. Not understanding the scream yet, Sherlock began to freak out. He did not know how to act with children, let alone be in a nervous breakdown.

At the living room came a worried Mrs. Hudson, thanks to that scream that was heard all over the place. As she entered, she discovered Bell yelling at a newspaper and Sherlock walking around like crazy from corner to corner and covering his ears with his hands.

"What’s the matter?!" Mrs. Hudson shrieked.

"I don’t know!" Sherlock shouted. "She begun...! Out of nowhere!"

"Bell, darling!" exclaimed Mrs Hudson as she hugged her. "Little girl, calm down!"

Feeling Mrs. Hudson’s arms, the girl held on to them and leaned on her chest so she could drown out the scream. When Bell’s screams turned to sobs, Sherlock stopped his walk and uncovered his ears. Still frightened by the girl’s sudden attack, he approached both and looked at them in an altered manner.

"Why was that?!" he questioned angrily. Bell looked at him with those tearful eyes.

Mrs Hudson frowned at that question.

"Sherlock!" she exclaimed annoyingly. "Be more kind."

"Kind? Ha! I want to know, why did you scream, Isabelle?" he demanded.

She watched him annoyingly as he uttered her full name, however Sherlock ignored her. Seeing the detective’s behaviour, the girl obeyed him and pointed to a sheet of newspapers. Curious about it, Sherlock looked at the blade to which the little one was pointing and was shocked to see the contents of it.

It was a photograph of Magnussen.


	5. Step by step

"Bad man!!" Bell shouted as she pointed to the paper. "Bad man!!" The little girl hid more in Mrs. Hudson's chest and she hugged her trying to calm her down, however, she was completely scared. "Magnussen..." Sherlock whispered amazed.

"Darling, what's going on?" Mrs. Hudson asked desperately. Feeling the atmosphere flood in panic, Mrs. Hudson, not hearing an answer from Sherlock, turned to see him and he had a lost look, but in those green eyes the fear was distinguished.

The detective ignored Mrs Hudson's call and walked over to his couch to sit down and put his hands under his chin, began to feel a strong pressure on his shoulders and back, which strongly gouged his; his breath had become a little agitated and he noticed his hands trembling lightly. He quickly brought them to his lips to avoid that sensation, but it was impossible to hide it.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" He kept mute, all he did was move his eyes and resume his sight to nothing. "Sherlock?" She repeated worried while rising from the ground with the little one still in her arms.

The little girl kept up with Mrs. Hudson and when she got up, she moved her face to saw the detective. In those moments of stillness and that the only sound was Sherlock's agitated breath, they heard a knock on the door. Mrs Hudson separated a little from the girl and took her from her cheeks gently to look at her.

"I have to answer the door," she said, and Bell stared at her. "I won't be long, okay?"

With her face still red from the screams and the veins of her temples relaxing, the girl gulped down her sobs and nodded. Mrs. Hudson smiled nervously and dropped her hands off the girl's face, Bell stared at her until she stepped out of the place and looked back at the detective, who was still breathing that hard and trembling in his hands that did not seem to control himself. He closed his eyes and deep inside he was looking for a way to look as serene as possible.

Bell turned to see the newspaper with Magnussen's photograph and took it, approached the detective, calculating the distance, she needed to be at and was less than two inches from his personal space.

"Bad man," she repeated as she showed him the photograph. Sherlock managed to inhale very deeply and feeling his lungs filled with air, and noticing that his hands had relaxed, he exhaled terribly. "Where do you know Magnussen from?" he asked, as he finished blowing the air out.

"Mom... She..." the girl babbled, looking for the right words to say, but she could not "Work... Bad man."

Sherlock opened his eyes and seriously observed that child. She was thoughtful and knew she would not respond exactly; this time her fingers began to move, causing the girl to feel rushed and he did not tolerate. He despaired, snatched his newspaper sheet, and showed her the photograph.

"How do you know Magnussen?" he demanded furiously. "He couldn't murder your mother because I killed him four weeks ago and your mother died three weeks ago, so this doesn't make sense unless you start talking."

Bell saw the detective with big eyes, and he kept that paper raised in front of his face. In that state, Bell looked at Magnussen's photograph and at the same time the desperate detective and, not knowing how to respond, placed her hands on her temples and moved her face to avoid that angry look of the detective.

"Shut up," Bell whispered. Sherlock heard her and frowned. "Shut up, I can't... Think..." she continued to be upset and put her hands on her ears, closed her eyes and squeezed them hard. "Shut up, shut up, shut up..."

Sherlock observed her not knowing how to react, tried to relax his frown, and looked at that girl who was beginning to get upset. What could he do? How should he act? What did John do in the cases he put himself that way? Now he too was beginning to get frustrated. In those moments, like a miracle, Mrs. Hudson arrived at his flat and was accompanied by Lestrade and Donovan. And for those seconds Sherlock thanked fate, even if he did not believe in it.

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked and moved his greyish green eyes towards the entrance.

"What?" he growled.

"We have brought you the rest of the cases in Northampton," spoke Lestrade, who was carrying a box of files, and he observed those two curiously.

Even with that expression of fury mixed with fear, Sherlock pulled down the sheet of the newspaper and stood up from the couch to look at everyone present in his living room; Bell was still in the same position and she did not whisper those words anymore.

"What about that child?" Donovan questioned. "What does she do with the freak?"

Upon hearing the last question, Bell opened her eyes and slowly removed her hands from her temples.

"Sergeant," he warned as she turned to look at him, "later I'll explain the situation. Now, if you would be so kind as to bring the rest of the reports," Donovan with an arched eyebrow, laid her eyes on Sherlock who still had that expression on his face that did not inspire confidence, at least in her. Sherlock looked at her until he also arched his eyebrow, as a challenge. "Donovan?" Lestrade asked to upset and she, reluctantly obeyed him.

She turned around and retired from the living room.

Lestrade left a box on the ground and quickly approached the two.

"Is she fine?" he asked worried.

Sherlock did not respond; all he did was put his hands behind his back and walk to the first box they left. Lestrade approached Bell, took her delicately by the shoulders, and she, feeling those hands gave a slight shout and saw the inspector who was surprised by his reaction.

"Are you okay?" he questioned worried as he removed his hands.

Bell did not answer. He turned to look at Sherlock, who had his back to them, and Mrs. Hudson approached them.

"You know? I had better take Bell to the kitchen; we watch some TV and eat some nice biscuits. What do you think, honey?" asked with a smile as she wore her eyes with her.

"You should have done that a while ago, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock responded as he read the informs.

Lestrade sighed bitterly and she frowned.

"Come on, sweetheart, let these two works," and she took her shoulders and started walking.

Donovan arrived with another box of files and nearly stumbled upon Mrs. Hudson and the girl. Frightened she stepped aside, apologizing and the two continued to walk, however, Bell stopped and turned to see her. The little one looked at her furiously, her eyes almost gave out how she was killing her, and she got the sergeant surprised by the little one's murderous gaze. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson observed confused that moment, instead, Sherlock ignored them, but an immense surprise came when he heard the girl tell Donovan, with much contempt:

"You are the freak."

Upon hearing those words, Sherlock paused to read the reports and raised his head but did not turn to see them. Donovan opened her eyes wide without being able to conceal the surprise on her face, her mouth had remained open before those words that, without a doubt, she had said them with hatred.

Mrs Hudson approached the girl and grabbed her shoulders so she could get her out of there. Bell agreed to her action and they both left the detective's apartment. Scare, Donovan turned to look at Lestrade, whose eyes also seemed to be out of orbit.

"Why the hell did she tell me that?" she asked annoyingly, as she moved her eyes with Sherlock in search of an answer.

This one was freeze. Those words that little girl uttered had fallen on him like a bucket of cold water and, without believing it, had penetrated his bones. But why did he feel that? No, the real question was, why did she defend him? "I'm talking to you!" Donovan exclaimed. Sherlock stood his ground.

"Sergeant, enough," Lestrade exploded and she turned to look at him with a crooked grin. "That is all for today Donovan, thanks for the help. You may return to Scotland Yard." All Donovan did was sigh with a lot of bitterness, tuck her jacket in and walk out of that place, not without first looking at Sherlock. "Do you now have a new watchdog? Who would have thought? Holmes, being defended by a little girl," she mentioned hurtfully as she folded her arms. "Donovan!" Lestrade shouted. She looked at him from the corner of her eye.

Sherlock turned to look at the sergeant and, in a tone so neutral and not so worthy of him, said: "Thank you... for the files."

Donovan was speechless, this time she did not come up with any more arguments to discuss with Sherlock, as he did not seem to have cared about what happened; he looked so indifferent. Yes, it was common in him to be so, yet his indifference was questionable to that of other times, he seemed indifferent to what happened. "Your arsehole, Holmes," she retorted and hurried out of the place.

The detective saw her leave, Lestrade sighed fed up and decided to approach him to help with the Northampton files.

* * *

John looked at Mycroft in panic. The eldest of the Holmes rose to prepare another cup and observed the doctor. "More tea? It’ll help with your nerves."

Having heard the words, John shook his head and tried to return to the reality he was in, looked at Mycroft pour himself the tea from that beautiful porcelain teapot and could see how he was completely calm at what he had just said.

"Mycroft," he moved his eyes toward him, "What you just told me," he said nervously. "Is that true? Bell’s mother... did she work for Magnussen?"

"Would I lie to you?" he asked amusingly.

"B…but... How...? No, no, no," he babbled. "When? That would be the most appropriate question."

"Well, I wouldn’t consider it the most appropriate question," He resumed its place. "But please, Doctor Watson, take your seat again and let me finish telling you this story."

Obeying him, John returned to the couch, looked at all the papers in the file and took the one where Mycroft said that she had worked for Magnussen. "Samara Jones," he continued, "worked for Magnussen for a period of four months, a year and a half ago if I’m not mistaken. It wasn’t too long..."

"Then," he interrupted, "as she left that job, Janine came in as Magnussen’s secretary."

"I think," the eldest of the Holmes said as if nothing and drank his tea again.

"But why would she quit that job? It was a good pay to be able to support her and Bell."

"That cannot be answered, Doctor Watson. Magnussen probably realized what kind of person she was and fired her. That could be logical." John Watson was thoughtful for a few moments and then took his still surprising look at Mycroft, who was still so calm with his tea party. "And you think Sherlock won’t be interested in solving this case?"

When he heard that question, he lowered his cup and seriously observed his brother’s sidekick.

"Doctor Watson, I know Sherlock perfectly. I know he will. But as I told you, he has an important matter to resolve with England. Save it from James Moriarty. So, as far as we are concerned, and as a suggestion, you will tell Sherlock that that woman was murdered for matters between terrorists and case closed."

John’s eyes opened wide, and all he could do was grimace of strangeness.

"Sorry?" he asked without believing it. "You want me to lie to Sherlock?"

"Exactly," and he went back to drinking his tea. "Ha! Are you hearing yourself, Mycroft?" John said with a sarcastic smile. "Do you want me to lie to Sherlock?! About a case?! Please!"

"You will manage this, Doctor Watson. Now if you will excuse me, teatime is over, and I have unfinished business."

Mycroft placed the cup in front of the table that separated them, took the papers, and put them back in that file. John saw him with enormous rage, and he do not hesitate to speak. "What about the child? She saw her mother die; at any moment she can tell us everything."

"Don’t worry about it, we will soon send you to child services to take the case, and it is so clear to you and to my, Doctor Watson, that the little one will not be able to speak. You know it yourself," Mycroft straightened out to intimidate John, "With the emotional shock to which she has been affected, I doubt she can put together more than five words and with consistency," he ended with a smile, so worthy of hitting him in the face.

John looked Mycroft and his courage went beyond colossal, wondering how he had not hit him. The Doctor admired his self-control, but it was a terrible thing for him not to be able to help Bell. She came looking for help, they could not refuse her, and besides, Sherlock had already said yes. However, there were certain truths in what Mycroft had just told him.

"Good morning, Doctor Watson," he bid farewell despotically and left his little lair, leaving him with his thoughts.

* * *

Sherlock and Lestrade kept digging through the files, but nothing about a murder in the last four weeks came up. It all went to simple robberies, which Sherlock solved in no time; one or the other case of poisoning, also solved, to which he summed up some as suicide, yet nothing involved a cold-blooded murder.

"All this is strange," Lestrade sighed as he placed the box on the table.

"There must be something," Sherlock eagerly released.

"I think it’s useless," Lestrade continued, but the detective ignored him. "There’s nothing in the records."

"No, there has to be something. Such a murder could not go unnoticed, although..."

Sherlock stood still and a lost look appeared. Lestrade frowned curiously, but not surprised by the detective’s sudden reaction.

He remained in the same position, with his eyes half closed and he was sunk in his mind. Lestrade stood beside him and observed with curiosity, knowing that something was going on in that head. Suddenly Sherlock took his cell phone out of his coat and dialled a number with a lot of anxiety.

"Who are you calling?" Lestrade asked, but he ignored him.

John Watson, who was in a taxi heading for Baker Street, had his phone in hand and had just heard the voice mail Sherlock had left him earlier. For Sherlock to decide to talk to him instead of texting him, the situation was serious. He felt at that moment his phone vibrated and noticed, with no wonder, who was calling him.

"Sherlock," he replied somewhat seriously.

"You told him about the girl, didn’t you?" he asked a little annoyingly.

"Oh, Sherlock! Give me five minutes. I’m almost there and I’ll explain everything."

"Why? I do not have five minutes. You can tell me right now."

John sighed bitterly as he laid his hand upon his face, to bring out his despair.

"Sherlock," he spoke more seriously, " I shouldn't be long. Once there, I can explain things to you more calmly, okay?"

Silence, it was the only thing that came out of the other side of the line. John was surprised to hear absolutely nothing, to such an extent that he thought he had hung up on him, but no. He just remained silent.

"Sherlock?"

"Why did Mycroft ask you to lie to me?" he snapped out of nowhere and John’s eyes opened, surprisingly.

"Sorry?"

"What you heard. Why did Mycroft ask you to?"

"Sherlock!" he exclaimed nervous.

"Mycroft sent for you, it was obvious that he knew of the girl’s arrival. You sounded very frustrated and now you are nervous, it is likely that whatever you talked to him upset you. And by the way you answer, he asked you to keep me away from this case; he told you to lie to me to be totally focused on Moriarty."

Now the silence came from John’s side. And did Mycroft really want him to lie to Sherlock?

"Sherlock..." sounded serene.

"See you in 14 minutes. Not five," and hung up.

Sherlock hang his phone out and saw Lestrade who seemed confused about the matter.

"Everything, all right?"

"No," he replied with a smile and walked over all the scattered newspapers and made too much fuss with them.

Mrs. Hudson and Bell, who were in the kitchen watching the TV, could hear the immense noise of the newspapers. The woman sighed wearily and rose from the chair to pour herself some coffee.

John arrived at the apartment and entered the place as quickly as he could. Perceiving the scandal that John made, Mrs. Hudson and Bell came out of the kitchen and saw the Doctor rush up the steps. Bell remained curious and Mrs. Hudson carried her hands on the child’s shoulders.

"Don't be scared," she said with a smile, "it’s so normal to see them come and go like that, but maybe they’ve discovered something about your case. You want to go ask them?"

She looked at her strangely for a few seconds and her response was to nod.

The doctor came to the floor and looked at Sherlock sitting on his sofa, in his typical pose with his hands under his chin, looking at nothing and looked at all the chaos that the apartment was. It was not unusual to see too many newspapers folded and made balls everywhere, but he did not expect that.

"And Lestrade?" John asked with a nervous smile.

"At Scotland Yard," without seeing him, he replied seriously.

"Has he brought you the files?" he sought to evade the subject, but the detective did not answer. "Sherlock!" he exclaimed surrendered as he approached him.

"Don’t take another step," he demanded in a bitter tone.

John stopped just under a meter from him.

"What did Mycroft tell you? Exactly," Sherlock asked as he turned to see him.

"Ah...! Well...!"John jabbered very nervous and took his gaze to the wall, discovering that a newspaper was stuck to the wall and was a photograph of Magnussen.

John could not hide his surprise and walked to the wall to observe better and know if his eyes were not deceiving him.

"Sherlock, why do you have Magnussen’s photograph?"

The detective refused to answer, only saw him from the corner of his eye. At that moment Bell and Mrs. Hudson entered and Sherlock took their serious sight with them in which John did not stop looking at the photograph.

"We came to know, how are things with Bell’s case?"

Sherlock continued with his serious posture and John, returning to the moment, turned to look at the two curious ladies saw them.

"Well..."

"John has discovered something new," Sherlock replied seriously and he looked at him surprised.

"What?"

"You see, honey," Mrs. Hudson said with a smile as she held Bell in her arms. “I told you they must know something by now, they’re so fast," and the little one half smiled.

"But..." John continued to speak worried "But what does Magnussen’s picture do on the wall?"

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Hudson. "Bell found it in the paper and started yelling at him that he was the bad man."

"Bad man?" he asked strangely.

"John," Sherlock interrupted. "It would be good if you started talking."


	6. On my terms

"What are you waiting for?" Sherlock demanded angrily.

"Waiting from what?" John asked crossly.

"Let us talk, whatever Mycroft told you. We don’t have all day."

"But Sherlock!"

"We are wasting time," he sang.

John sighed angrily and went to sit on his chair. Sherlock followed him with his eyes and Bell, next to Mrs. Hudson, observed both men. "So, do you have information about Bell’s case?" Mrs. Hudson asked curiously. "We are about to find out," Sherlock replied, while putting his hands under his chin. As he looked at him, he took his position, John sighed bitterly and began to rub his hands, with certain eagerness, on his trousers.

"Well..." John spoke seriously "But first, Mrs Hudson," he turned to look at her, "could you take Bell to the kitchen?" he suggested with some nervousness.

"Why?" she questioned strangely. "Is it something...?"

Upon hearing that unfinished question Bell turned to look at her strangely and she, feeling the look of the child, guided her sight to discover that those brown eyes were asking what was going on? It was not necessary to hear words from that little mouth, those eyes said everything. A worried Mrs. Hudson turned to John and Sherlock.

"Guys, what’s going on?" she insisted worried.

"Mrs Hudson... please," John earnestly begged. With a distressing sigh she took the little girl’s shoulders and looked at her with her best smile. "Bell, honey, how about we go to the kitchen and make some food?"

"More?" she asked almost surprised.

Hearing that tone in her, John and Mrs. Hudson opened their eyes wildly, but John quickly looked back at Sherlock’s serious and Mrs. Hudson took Bell by the hand, they both left the living room and the girl observed once again the two adults with some strangeness. Once alone, John saw Sherlock as seriously as he could and was showing how upset he was.

"Good!" John exclaimed. "First of all, all these files you have won't get you anywhere."

"I assumed it," he replied seriously.

"Second of all, your brother is who handles this case."

"Interesting," he continued, as he smirked.

"Sherlock, this is very serious. Bell’s mother was involved in the Rupert Casey incident."

"Rupert Casey?" he wondered curious.

"That terrorist who attacked The London Underground ten years ago. It was a very notorious case."

"Yes, yes, I remember. I told Mycroft that he could not have planned such an attack, he was a simple man. But he ignored me."

"Well, apparently Bell’s mother lived with that guy and was accused of complicity in the attack." Sherlock put his hands to his lips and arched an eyebrow. "What was her name?"

"Samara Jones."

"Samara Jones..." he repeated quietly. "And something else," John continued. Sherlock moved his eyes, "Bell’s mother, a year, and a half ago, worked for four months as Magnussen’s secretary. That’s why Bell recognized him."

Sherlock made no expression at all and quickly got up off the couch. When John noticed, he followed him, Sherlock approached all the files he had gotten from Lestrade and began to look at them one by one. Doctor Watson looked at his friend with some concern. He had understood.

"Sherlock," John whispered, but he did not answer him. "Sherlock, I understand you."

"Understand what, John?" he asked with false seriousness, while taking a slight leap. John sighed in despair.

"All this. I know this Moriarty thing has taken you with a certain... surprise. And now Bell arrives, and this Magnussen situation..."

"Oh, John!" he interrupted. "So many years together and you don’t seem to know me," he said, walking in circles through the floor files.

"Of course, I know you, Sherlock!" he exclaimed angrily. "I know you perfectly well and I know you’re scared," the detective stopped his walk and looked at him. " Seriously Sherlock, I understand you," he now said in a protective tone. "I know this isn’t easy to carry, this pressure you’re generating, I know it consumes you. The fact that Magnussen’s ghost haunts you and now Moriarty’s is not easy to carry..."

"John..." was severely interrupted.

"The point I’m going to is that I’m your best friend, I’m here to help and support you, even if you deny me the things," Sherlock kept looking at him. "And remember, you’re Sherlock Holmes, the greatest consulting detective there is and..."

"The only one," he interrupted serenely and without denying that he liked that motivation.

"Exactly, you are the only one capable of solving any case, that includes this one. So, let us not waste any more time and solve the case of little Bell."

Sherlock showed a half-smile, turned around to turn his back on John, and for a few moments he became thoughtful. He, scared? Stressed? Tortured? It was true that the fact that Bell understood the science of deduction had scared him a little. He also felt some pressure about Moriarty’s unexpected return and, indirectly, Magnussen, and it made him feel terrible guilt. Maybe there was truth in what John had just told him. At heart he did not understand the reason for his speech; his sorrows were his and no one else’s, but had motivated him, he had liked to know that there was John with him right now.

"Well?" questioned Watson, who suddenly appeared in front of him. At what point had he stood in front of him?

"The game is on, John," he replied with a huge smile.

"That’s the way I like it," he smiled.

"Well, first. Mycroft, did he show you the Samara Jones files?" he said as he rubbed his hands and started walking.

"That is correct."

"And we know we can’t get these files because they’re maximum security. Now, we need all that to get more information from Samara’s past."

"Yes, that’s true. I could see a few papers, Mycroft take care at them with a great zeal, that case is very interesting to him."

"Of course, he’s interested! She was a suspect in a terrorist attack that he could not lock up. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were intrigued by the fact of her murder, he’s investigating it, too."

"But how would we get them? We’re not going to steal them."

"Oh John, that will be very easy," he chorused as he looked at him with that smile.

"Really?" he asked strangely.

"Sure," and Sherlock winked.

* * *

It had been a while since that pep talk. John was sitting in his chair and set out to read some of the newspapers scattered about the apartment while Sherlock analysed the wall with Magnussen’s photograph when, the concentration of both was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Hello, boys!"

"Mary?!" John said perplexed.

"I am sorry for the delay, there was traffic coming here," she continued with a smile.

"Sherlock?!" John asked exasperated as he turned to look at him.

"Mary will help us get the files," he replied with his typical half-smile.

"Sorry?" he doubted. "My wife will do what?"

"Sherlock sent me a message, so I’ll help you with your case," she continued as she kissed him on his cheek.

"But... but..."

"Easy, John," Mary smiled as she put her hand under her husband’s chin.

"Mary was very quick to pull Emelia Ricoletti’s information from the MI5 database. She can pull Samara Jones' as fast as that."

"But...!"

"Easy, honey, it’s okay."

"What do you mean with it's okay?!" John exclaimed almost furiously. "What if Mycroft finds out about this?"

"He’ll find out, that is obvious. But he will not do anything to us," Mary said with her smile still.

"That’s right," Sherlock continued, "Mycroft must know that he has to play on my terms. He knew I would be interested in this case, no matter how hard he tried to get me away, he cannot deny it. So, he does not have to hide his files from us. It is very selfish of him," the detective said as he frowned.

Mary smiled once more at John and approached the table to take a seat and start working on Sherlock’s laptop. "This will take me a couple of minutes," she said as she started typing. "So, Sherlock, get ready for your brother’s call."

Obeying her, Sherlock pulled his cell phone out of his coat and approached Mary to observe her hack the British government’s database. John rose from his couch to approach his wife and look surprised at what she was doing. As Mary passed through the firewalls, she moved her eyes away from the monitor and, at the entrance to the living room, noticed at a little girl who was looking at her with curiosity. Surprised at the presence of that innocent girl, Mary smiled at her.

"Hello!" she exclaimed with her own joy. John and Sherlock looked up. "Who is this beautiful little girl?"

"Mary, this is Bell," John replied, "she is our client."

"Oh!" she exclaimed surprised. "The files you need are...?"

"From Bell’s mother," Sherlock continued very seriously.

"What happened?" she asked strangely.

"Boom!" Bell responded quickly, pointing her fingers at her temple.

Mary had understood and at the same time could hear something break inside her chest. The pregnancy had made her more sensitive and her maternal sense had already surfaced. She felt the need to hug her, but a sound came from the laptop, she looked down and noticed.

"Great!" she exclaimed victorious. "I have accessed the database."

"Excellent! The file is Samara Jones," Sherlock spoke quickly and Bell, hearing her mother’s name, looked at them with great hope. And at that moment, Sherlock’s cell phone rang, and he answered it quickly.

"How’s diet going, brother?"

 _"Sherlock, what are you doing in the government database?"_ he chided.

"Oh Mycroft, please!" he exclaimed sarcastically. "You know perfectly well what I’m doing in there. The truth was very rude of you to try to take me away from this case and use John to lie to me. I’m surprised you don’t know me well enough, my dear brother."

_"All right, Sherlock, you’re going to make me use force on you. I forbid you, strictly, to get involved in this or any case, until England is free of James Moriarty."_

"Is that your strength? How dare you take all the fun out of me?" he continued with his sarcasm by having John, Mary and Bell see him, "Who will solve this case? Because you, being smarter than me, haven't been able to."

_"Stop playing, Sherlock, and listen to me..."_

"No Mycroft!" he replied very angrily. "You listen to me. Stop meddling in my business, I will know how to deal with that, and in the meantime, I will solve this case. And I don’t want to hear from you anymore."

_"Sherlock, you better not provoke me. Remember, if it weren’t for me, you’d be dead."_

The detective tensed terribly, felt the muscles in his back writhe because of that sensation; a frustration surrounded him and quickly hung up the call. He breathed a restless breath and glanced at all three, showing annoying eyes.

"Do you have it?" he reluctantly asked.

"Just for a moment..." Mary said with anxiety and she was thrown out of the database.

The screen of the laptop was completely black. Mary and John looked amazed and after a few moments the desk appeared.

"Did you get it?" Sherlock asked exasperated.

"Wait, he got me out, ahead of time."

Mary began digging into the laptop files as Sherlock began to walk around in despair. John turned to tell him to control himself, as he too was in a bad mood.

"Yes!" Joyfully exclaimed Mary. "I managed to get it."

Sherlock stopped his walk and approached the blonde to kiss her on the forehead while John smiled at his wife’s feat, he was proud of her, although he resented the way she did it. Bell approached the three adults and stopped in front of the table where they were celebrating. She looked at them seriously and the three stopped the small party to observe her serenely.

"Bell..." Mary spoke, slowly fading her smile.

"Liar."

All three were shocked.

"Sorry?" she asked strangely.

"Mary," John quickly stepped in, "there’s something about Bell you should know. She’s like Sherlock, in the deduction aspect."

Still surprised, Mary turned to see John and then to Sherlock, who seemed to have strained now.

"Wow," she gasped. "Bell you are a very privileged child," she exulted with an honest smile.

Knowing the warm smile that Mary Watson gave her, she saw that those words as lying; dangerous and more negative that danced around her, vanished so that only one appeared. Loving. Mary stretched out her arms to embrace her, Bell smiled at her and walked up to her to surround her with all her strength. Having the little girl in her arms, Mary gave her something that Bell had missed so much in these weeks, a little love.

* * *

Bell and Mary were sitting on the couch. With her very active curiosity, the girl had her ear on Mary’s belly. It was so surprising to hear the heartbeat of the baby on the way, making it fascinating. Mary stroked her head and smiled at her with too much tenderness, and in those moments, Bell felt the baby kick. She got scared and removed her head from her womb.

"I think she liked you," Mary said with a smile. Bell looked surprised. "Look, touch here," she continued as she held her hand and put it in her womb. "When she kicks a lot, it’s because she’s glad of the people around her; she does it when Sherlock is around or hears him talk," and smiled at him.

Upon hearing that revelation the detective turned his eyes as he keeps looked at his laptop.

John arrived in the living room loaded with two cups of coffee and a bag full of bread, all bought at Speedy, due to the whim his wife had generated.

"Here’s a cappuccino with cream and caramel, the Lemonade Scones you wanted and, for Bell, chocolate doughnuts."

"Thank you, Doctor Watson," his wife said with a big smile. "Will you know if Mrs. Hudson made biscuits?"

"Won’t you complete with that?" he questioned in amazement.

"Hey! I’m almost eight months pregnant and the baby also wants some biscuits made by Mrs. Hudson." John looked with an arched eyebrow and about to answer, surprising all three, Bell spoke. "She prepared some," she said with a slight smile as she looked at Mary.

John and Sherlock saw her, the latter trying to disguise his surprise. Bell had spoken without being blocked by her shock.

"Really?" Mary asked with a smile. "Bell, honey, could you go to Mrs. Hudson and ask her to give me some biscuits?"

Bell saw Mary with a smile and nodded. She rose from the sofa and left the living room for Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen. They all observed her leave and as she was no longer around, John looked at Sherlock and his wife.

"Did she...? Did she speak without suffering the shock?"

"That seems so," Sherlock responded indifferently and looked back at the laptop.

"The shock?" Mary questioned curious.

"Yes. Bell arrived this morning in a state of shock. She saw her mother die and was wandering all over London for almost four weeks, but we couldn’t get her to communicate with us, only saying one or three words without coherence."

"If they were consistent, you just never noticed," Sherlock interrupted. John looked at him seriously.

"The point is," he continued with discomfort, "that she was in shock. But being with you she managed to calm down."

"Well John, Bell misses her mother, she needs maternal affection."

"True... poor Bell. Oh!" he exclaimed suddenly, "Mycroft told me he would send child services to take the child."

Sherlock flicked his eyes at his laptop and give a look to John.

"For what?" he asked curiously.

"She’s an orphan and they need to take her so they can give her a temporary home and..."

"But she is here," Sherlock interrupted, causing Mr and Mrs Watson to look at him in confusion.

"Yes, Sherlock, but the thing about child services is that..."

"In the first place, she is a witness to the murder, and we must get her to talk. They cannot take her when she is the main witness," he continued seriously. "And secondly, we need to know how much Magnussen influenced Samara Jones and she’s the only one who knows."

Mary and John looked at each other with a question mark on their faces. The only action she could do was to lift her shoulders to her husband and get him to arch an eyebrow.

"And what do you suggest then, Sherlock?" Curious John asked. "That she stays and live here while you solve the case?" Sherlock rose from his chair and took several papers he had printed on Samara Jones' file. He approached the wall, causing Mary to rise from the couch, so the couple would see him glue all the papers to that wall. "Sherlock?" John insisted not to hear an answer.

"You did not tell me that Samara had a sister," he replied when he finished pasting some papers.

"Yes, I completely forgot..."

"How efficient," he grumbled. "Where is she?"

"The sister?" And Sherlock turned to see him terribly. "I don’t know, not even Mycroft knows."

"Fine. Bell is not a total orphan, there’s her mother’s sister. We can find out where she is. So, I don’t see why those services should take her."

"So, are you really suggesting that Bell stay here?" Mary insisted strangely and they both looked at her.

"No," he replied seriously, "my point is clear, there is no need to take her away," and he quickly moved his head to avoid those curious looks from the Watson.

"Oh, Sherlock!" John exclaimed frustrated. "It may not make sense to you, but for child services it does."

"Well, she could live with us," Mary continued, making those looks land on her. "As long as this case lasts or, as Sherlock says, as long as the aunt shows up."

"Are you sure, Mary?"

"Totally. How about you?"

"Well, I have no problem, as long as she doesn’t deduce the neighbours’ lives, as Sherlock did, that is fine. She can live with us," he concluded with a smile.

"Say no more!" Mary exclaimed very cheerfully, as she held John’s hand, "it is only to speak with her."

At that time Bell came in with a plate of biscuits and the three observe her without lose sight of her. And seeing the sea of looks from those three adults, she felt a little worried.

"Bell, lovely," Mary spoke with that warm smile, "can we talk to you?"

That worry that had invaded her unexpectedly increased and she felt her heart begin to beat in an incredible way. And when she felt her muscular organ that way, it was because something unpleasant was about to happen.


	7. Chapter 6 My flat, my rules

"Bell, honey, can we talk to you?" Mary asked with her warm smile.

She saw them with certain nerves and the three adults kept their eyes on her. Mary with that smile she could not refuse, John folded his arms giving a fatherly air and Sherlock with his hands behind him and that frivolous and serious look. The girl had no choice but to nod gently, leave the biscuits on the table and turn her attention to them. Mary rubbed her hands and widened her smile a little more.

"Bell, John and I want to ask you something." She slowly moved her head up and down. "Well. Would you like to live with us? As far as Sherlock solves your case.” Bell looked at her strangely, almost looking as if she had not understood the words Mary Watson had said. At the awkward moment, the only thing that came out of her mouth was: "No."

The three opened their eyes wide. Sherlock tried to cover it up, but it was inevitable, Mary shook her head, somewhat bewildered, and looked at Bell again. "Honey, why not?" she questioned strangely. "I want to stay here," she replied quickly and seriously. John raised his eyebrows in surprise at the child’s response and moved his eyes to Sherlock who, at those words, had one of his eyebrows arched, hinting at his confusion at the girl’s response.

"Oh!" Mary exclaimed with her smile. "Would you like to live here with Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock?" Bell smiled softly and nodded. "Are you sure?" John questioned strangely and again Bell nod. "Really?" he insisted, doubtful this time.

"Yes," she confessed with a pleasant smile.

"Really, I mean, very seriously?" the Doctor repeated without believing it.

"Oh, John!" his wife exclaimed as she hit his chest slightly.

Sherlock, who still did not understand why she wanted to stay here, changed his expression to his typical seriousness and looked at Isabelle firmly. "Perfect," he responded. "You can stay here."

Mary and John turned to see surprised at Sherlock at his affirmative. They really expected a negative response like some classic excuse coming from him, however, he himself had said before, he needed the girl to solve the piece of the case, the piece about Magnussen.

"Sherlock," John called, "are you sure Bell stays here?" The detective turned with his friend and firmly nodded. "Are you serious?" he insisted, without believing it and Mary gave him another slight hit to the chest.

Upon hearing Sherlock’s affirmative, Bell could not hide her happiness, her smile had come from ear to ear and her sudden action was to go and hug him. Feeling the little girl on his body, Sherlock shook confuse his head and observed as the girl detonated an uncontrollable happiness. Mary and John looked that moment without believing it.

"Ah, Sherlock," John spoke, and he looked at him. "Can we talk for a moment? Privately."

Frowning, he looked at his friend and then extended his arms to take the child’s shoulders and, not knowing how to act, tried to move her out of his living space, but it was useless. Sherlock Holmes did not know how to behave before a small human being. Noticing the detective’s behaviour, Mary approached them and took the arms of Bell who, feeling those soft hands, moved her eyes to see the blonde with her maternal smile.

"Come honey, these two adults need to talk."

Without opposing it, Bell released Sherlock and took one of Mary’s hands and then they sat on the sofa and began eating Hudson’s biscuits next to the bread John had bought.

John beckoned to Sherlock to follow him and he obeyed him, they left the living room, to stay on the stairs, and John crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall. Instead, Sherlock placed his hands behind him and looked at him with some hesitation.

"Sherlock..." spoke very seriously.

"I know what you think, John," he interrupted. "I don’t know how to take care of a child."

"Well, you save me words. You know what it means to take care of a child, Sherlock?" And he lifted his head as he pressed his lips, seeking an answer. "You have no idea," John sighed bitterly. "Sherlock," he continued earnestly, "Bell will need the necessities of food, care, attention..."

"Like a dog," he interrupted again. Hearing that answer, John opened his eyes with a strange mixture of seriousness and surprise. "A dog?!" he gasped. "That is Bell for you, a dog? I see, I see..."

"I once had a dog," he continued as if nothing, "I know how to take care of one, feed him... I just won’t be able to pay attention to her, even play with her, so I have Mrs. Hudson..."

"Sherlock," the Doctor stopped him with a peculiar smile and Sherlock was curious at the expression on John’s face. "Bell, she’s not a dog!!" he shouted. "Bell is a human being, a person!! You assimilate it, right? If you grasp the fact that Bell is a human?" Sherlock looked surprised. " You know what a human being is, right?" he continued to be upset.

"I’m not stupid, John."

"Well, that’s what you’re implying to me!" he exasperated. "Sherlock, Bell is a responsibility very would be. Beyond what I just told you, she is going to need clothes, because did you notice she’s wearing a Mrs. Hudson dress?" The detective put on a thoughtful expression. "She will also need to study; she was probably in school before her mother’s incident. What if she gets sick? Or if she has an accident? What will you do? You won’t take her to a vet."

Sherlock was in absolute silence and with a serious look, almost worried. Discovering his expression, John did nothing but put his hand on his face and sigh with a smile.

"Oh, Sherlock! See? Bell is a serious responsibility, not like a dog."

"I can handle the responsibilities," he replied quickly. John laughed again at this irony.

"Oh, Sherlock!" he sighed. "And what will you do with child services? You know Mycroft is going to send them."

"I will know what to do with them," he replied very seriously.

"This is serious, Sherlock. No offense, but you do not have the skills to take care of Bell. You know Mary and I can take her to our house, she won’t lack for anything."

"She won’t go with you," he objected. John sighed again. "Will you take her, against her will?" the detective asked as he bowed his head and frowned softly.

Surprised at that question, John saw his friend who seemed to have a half smile on his face, it was like a touché to everything he had just said to him. This time John Watson did not sigh, he snorted at the point in favour of the detective.

"Fine," he replied angrily. "But that doesn’t mean I will not be aware of how you take care for her, Sherlock Holmes."

John turned around to return to the living room when, from Sherlock’s mouth, a few words came out, almost in the form of a whisper that made him stop in his tracks.

"I can take care of her." John turned to look him face to face, returning to the position he was in. "We’ll see about that."

Without further ado, John went upstairs, and Sherlock saw him until he entered the living room. He sighed with some bitterness, adjusted the buttons of his coat, and enlisted to went upstairs.

Bell and Mary ate those desserts with great joy when John came in, and behind him appeared a quiet Sherlock. They both looked at them curiously, hoping that someone would say a word, yet they remained silent.

"Why so serious?" Mary asked, while eating a biscuit.

"Nothing," John replied very calmly. "So, Sherlock, is Bell staying here?"

Upon hearing that question the little one looked up at him, and he appreciated the way she had the corners of her lips and her chocolate-covered fingers from the donuts John had bought her.

"Yes," he said earnestly and went to take a seat at the table where he had his laptop to continue reading the files.

Perceiving the frivolity surrounding the two of them, Mary glanced at the girl who showed a big smile and took a napkin to wipe her chocolate-covered fingers.

"Honey, can you go to Mrs Hudson and tell her you’re staying here?"

She nodded with emotion and Mary finished cleaning her hands to get up and off to the ground floor. The girl ran out and everyone could hear her coming down the stairs at an accelerated pace.

"Careful, Bell!" Mary shouted, but seemed to ignore her. Hearing how she got to the ground floor, Mary cleaned her mouth to get up from the couch and look at both men. "What happened?"

"Ah!" John sighed, but before continuing he was interrupted.

"John thinks I can’t take care of another human being," he responded, Mary just raised her eyebrows and saw her husband. Hearing no reply from her friend, Sherlock moved his eyes at them. "Why that expression?" he asked angrily.

"Well, don’t take this the wrong way, Sherlock, but John’s got a bit of a point."

"You too?!" he exclaimed. "I thought you, Mary Watson, were the most aware of this!" The couple sighed wearily.

"Sherlock, I don’t know what you and John would say exactly, but what I’m trying to say is..."

"I can’t take care of someone else?" he disputed.

"Listen, Sherlock," Mary continued, "that’s not what I’m trying to tell you, it’s just, are you sure you want Bell here?"

"Mary, John already gave me the speech about Bell being a responsibility and blah blah blah."

"Alright!" Mary shouted and Sherlock stopped. "Alright. For starters, we are not telling you this by teasing you or making you understand that yours is not this, but..."

"It is what you have been doing, you have yourselves become entangled in your hints," he looked at them seriously. "In fact, you told of me the responsibility that a child carries when you will be able to take care of your own baby?"

"Sherlock," John stepped in, "First of all, no one is born knowing how to be a parent. When the baby arrived, Mary and I will learn how to care our baby."

Upon hearing that answer, Sherlock raised an eyebrow that stood beside a victorious half-smile. the Watsons' looked at him strangely and then realized that they had fallen for a bad move. "So?" he insisted on not getting an answer from them. Both remained silent and looked at each other accepting the trap they had fallen into.

"Sherlock, the things my wife tells you is the same thing I told you a moment ago. Are you sure about this?"

"Yes Sherlock, we know she doesn’t want to go with us, we’re not going to force her, but do you really accept Bell stays here?" The detective continued to see them with that half smile and put his hands behind him. "I’ve made my decision."

John and Mary saw him amazed at the confidence of his response. Sherlock Holmes was certain to take care of a little girl, when it was well known, children were not his knowledge. The moment was interrupted when Mrs. Hudson entered the living room with the girl.

"Are will you take care of Bell?!" she exclaimed.

Everyone turned to Mrs. Hudson and an exasperated Sherlock rolled his eyes and without giving him an answer the detective returned to his workplace, took a seat, put his fingers on his temples and reread the files. Everyone followed him with their eyes and noticed how upset he was.

"Get out," he growled, "you don’t let me concentrate." Nobody listened to him, they just looked at each other. "Now!!" he shouted.

In response, they left the living room as fast as they could, to leaving the detective with his solitude in that room.

They descended the stairs and ahead Bell was holding Mrs. Hudson’s hand, Mary was holding on to the railing and at the same time put her hand on her belly and John was a little upset by what happened.

"John," Mrs. Hudson spoke, "how is it that Sherlock will take care of Bell?"

"Well, I think Sherlock felt like babysitting," he replied with a bitter sigh.

"But where will she sleep? And where will we give her more clothes? I gave her this dress because I no longer had any left."

"Well, Leave it to Sherlock. He wants responsibilities, that he adheres to them," Mary hit him on the chest, but this was not a soft hit.

"What was that?!" he asked in surprise and his wife saw him with murderous eyes.

"Mrs. Hudson," Mary continued, shifting her anger to harmony, "regarding the clothes, John and I will try to get it and we would like not only Sherlock to take care of her, but you as well."

"Oh, of course!" she exclaimed. "You don’t worry about anything, I’ll take care of Bell, too."

"Thank you very much, Mrs Hudson," she said with that sweet smile, giving another hit to John chest who only complained. "Say it."

"Oh, I’m coming...! Thanks for the help, Mrs Hudson."

"Don't thank me, darling”.

Bell looks confused at the adults, sometimes it was difficult to understand their conversations, and, above all, they were very stressful. After that talk, John and Mary announced that they were retiring, hugged Mrs. Hudson and again thanked her for helping with Bell. Then they looked at the girl and Mary’s warm smile re-emerged.

"Bell, we got to go."

"Now?" she asked sadly.

"Yes, honey, but we’ll be back soon. Uncle John and I will bring you some presents," when he heard the word uncle, John looked at his wife in surprise.

"Really?"

"Sure! And let us hope you like them."Bell went to hug Mary with immense affection, John looked confused at his wife and she noticed it. "I told her he could call us uncle and aunt," she replied quietly to the confusion on his face. "Take good care of yourself, Bell, and also take care of Sherlock," she smiled.

"Yes, Auntie Mary."

Mary let Bell go to get close to John, they looked at each other for a few seconds and, without warning, she hugged him. John was somewhat surprised, but did not refuse to hug the girl, stroked her chestnut hair, and smiled at her. They ended their embrace and Bell discovered that soft smile on him.

"Take care, Bell, we’ll be back soon."

"Yes, Uncle John."

A final smile was the official farewell by the Watsons' and they both left 221B. At the door, Bell and Mrs. Hudson saw them leave and with a smile the girl thanked them for this day.

"Well, Bell," Mrs. Hudson called as she held her shoulders, "we need to know where you’ll sleep." She turned to look at her with that smile, nodding her head and walked into her new home. Mrs Hudson saw her go upstairs and then she closes the door of her building.

* * *

Sherlock was still in the same position he was left in a while ago, with his fingers pressed against his temples, but this time his eyes were closed and the screen on his laptop had been suspended.

"What?" out of nowhere, he asked annoyingly. Bell, standing at the doorstep, looked at the detective with some fear. "Have John and Mary left?" Failing to get an answer, Sherlock opened his eyes. "I don’t bite," he continued, seeing the little one a little nervous. Before those words, Bell swallowed and began to walk towards him. Arriving at the small table, she did not fail to observe Sherlock, and neither did he move his greyish green eyes from her. "Why did you decide to stay here?" he questioned, although deep down he gave him an idea. She did not answer, she just analysed him. "Do you want me to say it?" he challenged.

Bell squeezed her lips and slowly nodded. Sherlock removed his fingers from his temples and rested his arms on the table.

"Beyond the fact of wanting me to help you figure out who killed your mother," he put his hands close to his lips, "there’s something that catches your eye from me. It’s not the fact that we both make the deduction, it matters little to you, it’s something else..."

Sherlock analysed the girl, and several words were revolving around, implying more deductions about her, and making the detective feel a kind of... _confusion? How was it possible for a simple little girl to turn her world upside down?_ It was already a chaos, and she comes to tear it apart more.

"?????????"

Those signs were the last that appeared around the girl. Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

"There are rules in this flat," he spoke suddenly, "first, it is forbidden to interrupt me when I am working, either alone or when John is here," Bell nodded quickly. " That includes no games, no yelling, no crying or any kind of thing kids do that gets me off track of what I’m doing. Second, avoids bursting into my living space, that makes me feel hysterical," she just blinked quickly, "anything that involves food, cleaning and all that stuff, talk to Mrs Hudson. I just take responsibility for her taking care of you and solving your case, you understand?" And she nodded again, this time softly and with her frown. Sherlock opened his eyes to look at her, it was amazing how the child was obeying him without any buts. "Anything to object to?"

"Ah..." mumbled. "Where will I sleep?"

Sherlock opened his eyes enormously to the question, so he quickly thought of the room that used to be John’s. That would be where she would stay, however, there was no bed, he had disposed of its months ago because of a case.

"Mrs. Hudson!!" he screamed as he rose from the chair. A few moments later, poor Mrs Hudson arrived in the living room and she seemed a little upset. "What is this?!"

"Mrs Hudson, we have a problem," he said as he approached her.

"Do we?" she asked strangely.

"Where will Isabelle sleep?" he asked something altered.

When the girl heard her complete name, she seriously observed the detective, but Mrs. Hudson took one of her hands to her chest and looked curiously at Sherlock and then began to laugh. Faced with the laugh attack of the lady, the detective observed her confused.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Oh, Sherlock!" she exclaimed with laughter as she put her hand on his arm. "Oh, don’t make me laugh!"

"I’m not making you laugh," he huffed, "so what’s funny?"

"Sherlock!" she continued. "You know perfectly well we don’t have another bed anymore, the one John used, you destroyed for that case, remember?"

"Yes, I remember," he grumbled.

"Well, honey," she continued more calmly, "Bell can’t sleep in my bed, it's a single bed and last night we were uncomfortable, even though she slept like a log. I would suggest your bed," Sherlock looked at her surprisingly, "It’s a double bed, isn’t it?"

"Oh, yes! But where do you suggest I sleep, Mrs Hudson?" he asked with a false smile.

"On your couch," she replied with another smile.

"Of course!" he exclaimed sarcastically. "Let the child sleep in my bed and I sleep on the couch! Of course!"

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson spoke annoyingly, "we well know that it is rare for you to sleep in your bed, I almost always see you sleeping on your couch. So, there’s nothing wrong with Bell sleeping in it while we get another one."

"I can sleep on the couch," the little girl spoke nervous.

"No Bell!" exclaimed Mrs. Hudson. "Both Sherlock and I are going to make sure you’re okay, aren’t we, Sherlock?"

In the face of that warning-filled demand, and that was the reminder of the responsibility he decided to take, he rolled his eyes annoyed and approached his huge couch.

"I hope there are cheap beds in the market," he said angrily as he threw himself into the furniture.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading. I will be deeply grateful with any comments, constructive criticism, opinions and / or suggestions :3


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